


Battle-Ready Armor

by Feeshies



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Crack, F/M, Gen, boob talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5969280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeshies/pseuds/Feeshies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ranger Stella needs a bra.  It takes a while for Otho to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle-Ready Armor

The men of the Legion were simple. Stella didn't have to be held prisoner by them to know that. They lived simple lives without the luxuries of modern technology, alcohol, or basic health care. Their minds were as simple of their lifestyle. "Go here, kill that, go home" seemed to be how most of the men went about their days.

When Stella was captured from her NCR ranger station and made to fight in the arena, she was put under the close watch of Otho, an especially simple legionary. Unlike the other soldiers, Otho didn't fight. Instead he would just stand in front of the arena for hours upon hours, sometimes without sleep. But unfortunately, Otho had one thing in common with most of the other legionaries: he seemed to know absolutely nothing about women. So Stella had no idea how he would react when she came to him for one simple request.

"You need a _what_?"

"A bra." Stella placed her hands on her hips. When Otho continued to stare at her dumbfounded, she sighed and explained. "It's an article of clothing. For people with breasts."

Otho was visibly flustered, his face nearly as red as his uniform. Stella smirked internally. This was just too easy.

"Why would…" Otho stopped and cleared his throat. "Why would I give you a...one of those?"

"I don't ask for much, Otho." Stella knew she would hit a block, but at least it was amusing to see him get all ruffled like this. "I require no weapons in the arena, I haven't caused any trouble, and you know I wouldn't willingly talk to you unless I absolutely had to."

"Yes, of course." The guard was clearly trying to appear professional, but his tone and nervous mannerisms were failing him. "But, uh, you still didn't tell me why you needed it."

Stella reached up and grabbed her own breasts through her rough brown tunic, all while maintaining cold eye contact with Otho.

"You see these? These pouches of fat wrapped in skin are heavy. And when you have heavy fat sacks hanging off of your chest with no means of supporting them, it can hurt. Especially during combat." She let go of her breasts. "Not to mention the irritation of having your nipples scraping against rough fabric. If I had some support, I would be able to perform better in the arena. Plus it would put me and my opponent on a more even level."

The look on Otho's face made it clear that he was barely listening to a word she said. His eyes were wide and his face was twice as red as it was previously.

"Uh…" He averted his gaze from her and tugged at the collar of his uniform. "Repeat that?"

Stella sighed. "My tits hurt. Bra, please."

"And did you say something about this helping the arena matches somehow?"

She nodded.

It took a while for Otho to respond, but at least he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

…

The only means of trade the Fort offered was with a trader from Arizona named Dale Barton. Otho met with Dale quite often, usually to pick up an order of coffee (the Legion still didn't recognize caffeine as a chem, but Otho was dreading the day when they caught on). But even though he was used to trading with the outsider, this time he felt completely out of his comfort zone as he stepped towards the trader.

"Ah, Otho." Dale tilted the brim of his hat up. "Your order isn't coming until Wednesday. Is there something else I can help you with?"

Otho picked at one of his gloves, unsure how to go about doing this.

"There's, uh...something else I need to order. It's for one of my fighters." He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "A...bra?"

Otho could tell Dale was trying not to laugh and he wondered if he was petty enough to have a man executed for such a thing.

"That I can arrange." He reached over to his supplies and picked up an order form. "What size?"

"I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, medium?"

"Uh huh…" Dale scribbled something down on the form. "Color?"

"Maybe like a deep red? I feel like that would compliment..." Otho shook his head. "What the hell am I talking about? It doesn't matter."

Filling out the rest of the order wasn't any easier, but when it was completed Dale filed the form away and Otho looked like he was going to pass out.

"Alright, that about does it." Dale tipped his hat. "Thank you for your business, sir."

Otho just waved his hand, his eyes still glued to the floor. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

…

She should have been more specific.

Stella stared in horror at the pink monstrosity in her hands. The object was covered in more lace and bows than a prewar tea party set. Each cup looked large enough to wear as a helmet with enough padding to withstand a melee attack to the head. Underneath each cup was a stiff wire which felt like it would do a better job digging into her ribcage than support. But the biggest concern of all was the lack of straps. How the fuck was this thing supposed to stay on?

The gladiator stared down at the bra, before looking up at a very distraught Otho.

"Really?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" He continued to pick nervously at his gloves.

"How is _this_ …" She held the bra rather close to his face. "...supposed to support me in combat?"

"That's a bra, isn't it?"

"A sports bra, Otho." Stella shook the bra harder. "I need a sports bra."

"There are different types? How was I supposed to know that?"

"I can't believe you don't know what a bra is."

"I've been a Legion soldier for 30 years!" Otho exclaimed, holding his hands up. "Sorry if I was too busy fighting battles to worry about profligate clothing items!"

Stella narrowed her eyes at him, before sighing and putting the bra down.

"Fine. I'll make do."

"Thank you."

…

The bra was obviously prewar, which meant it was easy to rip apart.

Under the cover of night, Stella tore the seams of the bra open. When she was done, she pulled out a stiff sharp wire. Time pretty much reduced the edges to a shiv. She tested the strength of the wire. In the right hands, it could be a capable stealth weapon. The ends could be used for puncturing, not to mention the strangulation she could deal out with the wire itself. It wasn't a perfect weapon, but this was clearly the best she could do.

Stella bent the wire into a coil and tucked it beneath her belt.

This was almost too easy.


End file.
